


Where There's A Will

by theheartchoice



Series: DeanCas Codas | Season 14 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Feels, Bingo, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Coda, Dean Winchester Uses Actual Words, Doubtful Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s14e12 Prophet and Loss, Family, Feels, Ficlet, Friendship/Love, Hope, Hopeful Ending, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, It's So Hard To Say Goodbye, Light Angst, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), One Word Prompts, POV Dean Winchester, Post-Episode: s14e12 Prophet and Loss, Preparing for the Worst, SPN One Word Bingo, Scared Dean Winchester, Self-Sacrificing Dean Winchester, kind of, love and.. love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-23 22:18:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17692142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheartchoice/pseuds/theheartchoice
Summary: Coda set after 14x12.Canon-compliant. Basically my headcanon for what went down in the aftermath of the episode. TBH this couldlegithave taken place on-screen, heavily-implied Destiel and all.This coda also fills a square for mySPN One Word Bingocard:word:BURN





	Where There's A Will

**Author's Note:**

> I'm usually one for excessive tagging but I was stumped on what to tag for this, so.. And there's a few _stylistic_ choices towards the end?? I dunno, I was trying something out.
> 
> I'm not really a fan of Season 14 thus far. Here's hoping the second half can redeem the narrative.

Who knew the bunker even _had_ a furnace? Well, Sam did, apparently.

When the refugees had arrived from the other universe, he’d explored certain corridors and sections of the bunker he hadn’t been near since first cataloguing the entire place for a revised map - years ago, now.

Turns out, with that many people, even in a space as big as the bunker, things were heating up to near uncomfortable levels. So. Solution? Turn down whatever magic-powered thermostat kept the place from freezing over come winter, just a little.

Dean was vaguely aware of it, but it wasn't pertinent information, most days - or any day, really. So it had settled somewhere in the recesses of his mind, along with lesser pasta sauce recipes and the best technique for french-braiding short hair (because it’s not like Sam would actually ever _let_ him put his know-how into practice).

But after the ‘miracle’ of Donatello, when they returned home - together, determined to find a better way - that’s when the existence of the furnace shuffled to the forefront of Dean's mind.

Since he'd made Sam and Cas a promise not to go it alone, anymore (at least for now), he allowed them to help him break down the Ma’lak box. It was an interesting exercise, as Cas briefly demonstrated how neither his Angelic strength nor his Angelic powers could render the box back to scrap metal.

Billie had been bang-on with those sigils. Dean was just somewhat surprised that his own craftsmanship had held up along with the intricate magic.

The box was untested, after all. Dean’d be lying if he said he didn’t have doubts (aside from all the inherent fears of this plan) of locking himself up to get tossed down to the briny deep, to take a not-so-deep sleep with only a pissed-off Archangel as company for all eternity  _without_ knowing for certain whether or not this little metalwork project would work.

But proof of such seemed beyond his reach. It’s not like it was in the old days, where there was an Angel lurking around every corner; Archangels even less so. And their near-extinction aside, Dean would put good money on any one of them trying to kill him before wanting to do him a favour.

Not that he can actually die, though.

Maybe if they’d known his plan they _might_ have helped. But there still remains no Angel he ever trusted more than Cas - nor ever could.

Their own misguided good intentions might well have overcome any desire for vengeance (because that’s what Angels have become: bottled up chaotic emotions often funnelled toward Dean - if not Cas - like a freakin’ cosmic twister of the lord). Any Angel who was willing to 'help' him might've turned on him, as Angels often do, trying to free Michael in order to save Heaven, or so they would think. 

Michael doesn't want to save anyone, or anything. He has zero interest in playing _Savior_ ; he wants nothing more than to watch the world _burn_ \- and to force Dean into a front-row seat of that psycho production. 

To avoid taking that risk, Dean would’ve gone through with his plan alone - Ma’lak box _un_ tested - and just hoped that his own two hands and Donna’s outdated power tools, along with the belief that Billie wasn’t one for cutting corners, was enough to get the job done.

It doesn’t matter much now, of course, since his plan has been put on hold - for the time being. But he told both Sam and Cas, plain as day: if the time comes and it’s the only play left on the board, then he’ll take it. No holds barred. 

He’s scared as hell about it but he’ll do what needs to be done. Just like he always has.

Still. Dean knows holding onto the Ma’lak box is a morale-killer. He doesn't want to drag his family down to the depths with him before his time is up. And now that he _knows_ that it works, the next one won’t be constructed from rusty sheet metal. He’ll go all-out with top quality materials, just in case.

Better safe than sorry.

But _this_ one needs to go. They all need this. Breaking down this box is akin to breaking down the lies and deception Dean hadn’t meant to force upon them.

They wanted to know, and now they do. Mom’s interference aside, Dean really doesn’t know if he could’ve kept it a secret, reasons be damned. He felt the need to, but Sammy’s always been the smart one. He knows Dean better than anyone (in certain ways), so if he hadn’t have caved then odds are Sam would’ve figured it out on his own.

Sam would’ve told Cas, _again_ \- because he feels they both deserve to know, despite Dean’s own wishes - and he would’ve been right to do so. Just because Dean couldn’t bring himself to tell Cas doesn’t mean he doesn’t have the right to know, too. He has every right. He’s family.

As for right now, what matters is them working together to find a Plan C. And ~~if~~ _when_ they don’t find one, well..

..they’ll meet that bridge over troubled water when they come to it. When they come back to Plan B - B for Bridge, for Box, for being Batshit crazy to follow Billie’s plan to the Bottom of the ocean.

But needs must.

Maybe it won’t be so bad - saying a proper goodbye. It’ll hurt, no question. But it’ll probably hurt a lot more not to. A little closure can’t be a bad thing - it might even help him find some semblance of peace before he takes that final plunge.

 

Dean scratches out the sigils on the main panels as the three of them begin dismantling the box. Four, if you count Jack - though he’s still processing the information, and his anger - which surprised the hell outta Dean, gotta say - is hindering any chance of him being safe in handling power tools.

He’s pretty much standing there with a scowl and a distant look in his eye, throwing out questions and counterpoints - most of which Sam and Cas field, thankfully, since they already know the answers. Dean focuses on breaking down the welding and larger metal components having made a temporary workspace of the boiler room, while they try to ease Jack’s mind.

Dean refuses Cas’ attempts to use his powers to carve up the de-powered metal, insisting they do it the old-fashioned way, just in case. Jack watches over Sam’s shoulder as he reads through the books Dean pilfered from the library, cobbling together an Enochian charm with Cas’ help to bolster the flames of the furnace enough to destroy any ounce of magic left in the metal of the disassembled Ma’lak box.

Cas chants the words, Dean supporting this particular Angelic assistance, and the flames shift: bright gold at the base, reminding him of Holy Fire - if not for the almost blood-red tips licking at the irons insides of the furnace.

They each take turns feeding the metal pieces into the powered-up flames, until Dean is holding the last piece: the main sigil, the 'lock' that would have secured Michael’s watery coffin.

It’s not the first time he’s destroyed a safeguard against Evil, but this time he can find comfort in knowing it’s not a one-time deal, not a ‘do and be doomed’, kind of thing. Because he can make another magical box. He can etch another magical lock. 

The markings of the ancient language spark in the flames when Dean lays in the final piece. As if the fire itself is sentient, it glows brighter the moment he does - bright enough to blind, causing them all to flinch and shield their eyes, even Cas - before the golden light is swallowed up in a bloody shadow, enveloping the confines of the chamber.

The shadow darkens to pitch black, gold sparking through it like fireworks on a clouded night - before snuffing out. The dark smoke clearing to reveal an empty chamber: flames out; all metal reduced to an iridescent ash.

And.. that’s it.

It’s done.

One less distraction for the coming days, weeks.. months? Who knows how long, really. There’s only so much Dean can do to keep Michael at bay, and considering how they’ve already explored every other option― if he’s being honest, which, _End Times being nigh_ and all he probably should, he doesn’t see another way out of it.

He can see the bridge up ahead, knows they’ll come to it probably sooner rather than later, and he’s willing to throw himself over the edge to keep the world turning, to keep the ground from crumbling underneath his family and countless innocent lives.

It’s not like it’s anything new, this course of action - it’s an old favourite; the default for when the world is about to go to hell - often _literally_. Self-sacrifice for the _Greater Good_ has always seemed worth it - but only when Dean is the one giving whatever he can to right the wrong that’s threatening to fuck up the world.

But, that’s okay. It sucks, but someone’s gotta do it and it’s what Dean excels at. Despite all his fuckups and failings over the years, if there’s a legacy he leaves behind it’s this:  _Fightin' the Good Fight._  

Because even when he can’t say what needs to be said, he can at least do what needs to be done.

He can show those he cares about most just how much they mean to him.

Although.. It didn’t always work out so well. More often than not, he’d screwed things up worse than they already were - inviting some new _Big Bad_ to replace the old one.

He tells himself this time is _different._  There’s no deal with a Devil, no trading of circumstance to lead things from bad to worse, not really. This one isn’t gonna come back to bite them in the ass - because this is The End. He’s taking Michael out of play by taking himself off the board.

Dean can see all the unplayed moves ahead them, and every course of action leads to the same inevitable end. He knows when he’s beat, but it’s not checkmate. The Ma’lak box is his resignation to a fate he can no longer change. And if he can’t kill the King, then he’ll lay down his sword and drag that bastard to the bottom of everything where he can’t hurt anyone ever again.

Dean tagging along for the ride seems a small price to pay, compared to that win.

But _this_ \- THIS, _holding out hope_ for something _he_ knows won’t come..? He can’t play that game, can’t toy with his sanity and whatever remains of his irrevocably scarred soul for that. But he’s not doing _this_ for himself.

He’s doing it for _them,_ for his _family_. Because _they_ _need this_. They need to search for a way to save him, need one last scrounge for a win before the final bow-out.

So, Dean will hold out. Long as he can.

But it’s not about _hope_ \- not for him. He’s doing this for the same reason he built that damn box in the first place - the same reason he’s always made the Sacrifice Play.

On the surface it’s for Humanity, for the innocents, for Free Will, and for the world in general. But he won’t lie; he’s a selfish man, and it’s far more personal than all that.

He’s just glad this time saving one (ie. The World) means saving the other, too (ie. His Family).

There’s no trade-off.

It’s win-win.

Speaking of _family._.

 

Sam ushers Jack out of the boiler room after all is done, because _he knows Dean_ \- better than Dean usually cares to admit, let alone appreciate, but right now he’s silently grateful - because he knows there are things still left to say, things that _need_ to be said.  

Dean’s already said his piece, scrap by scrap, to Sammy. But earlier in the hospital his conversation with Cas had been cut short, and the ride home was a mix of stilted questions, theories and more questions - about Billie and her notebooks, about the box and Michael, about Donatello’s once-again soulless self and Dean’s own state of being - most of which was met with curt replies smothered in uneasy silence.

They may have cleared the air before they hit the road, but that doesn't mean there's nothing left to say, that there are no more emotion-fuelled dialogues left to stagger through. And for the most part they had settled on a common ground of thought, perhaps due to exhaustion - both emotional and physical - preventing them from arguing further.

But, everything considered, they couldn’t just do away with the burden weighing on all of them through _will_ alone. They were still forced to deal with the brutal reality of one homocidal Archangel locked up in the trunk of Dean’s mind.

Once they’d reached the bunker, there had been no hesitation.

Sam went straight for the trailer, setting his own plan in motion right away: to tear apart the Ma’lak box and burn it to cinder in the basement’s furnace. Cas was already helping him remove the restraints before Dean could catch up to the moment.

From their talk in the car he knew Sam wanted to destroy the box. He didn’t want it to be some safety net for Dean to fall back on. For the _future,_ Dean had begrudgingly agreed. But for tonight, and for the difficult days ahead, Sam didn’t want its mere existence dragging down their efforts, like it was all for naught, a weight at the backs of their minds - as if Dean didn’t have enough weighing on his already.

Sam was afraid, he said so. Said he didn’t want Dean sneaking off in the middle of the night with his makeshift coffin in-tow and a map to the coast spread beside him. 

Dean understood, really he did. He just didn’t think the demolition needed to happen _right freakin’ now―_

―But then Sam was already calling for Jack, and Cas was fetching a dolly from the workshop corner of the garage.

_Fine. Might as well get it over with._

And now it’s done.

All that’s left is Dean and Cas alone in the relative quiet and thick-walled privacy of the boiler room. All it took was Dean speaking Cas’ name - once, and soft - for him to stay behind.

Not wanting to draw the awkward pre-conversation moment out any longer, as soon as Sam and Jack’s receding footsteps disappeared and he deemed them out of earshot, Dean spoke up.

“Sam said the same thing.”

Cas had waited patiently for him to speak first, but where before there was a disharmony of dread and anticipation in his features, now there was confusion. Can’t blame him.

“About.. saying ‘goodbye’, you know.” Though, maybe Cas _doesn’t_ know. “You gotta understand, man―it’s not that I didn’t wanna see you, tell you―” The thought chokes his words off, just a bit, just enough that he has to stop and clear his throat before going on. “..I _couldn’t_. I couldn’t just call you up sayin’:  _hey, got a sec-? I’m about to throw myself into the ocean for all eternity, just thought I’d let you know―_ ” He has to catch himself _again_ , catch his breaking voice, more vulnerability sneaking through than he cares to let out.

By the time he readies himself again, strength wavering, Cas has stepped closer, edging in on his personal space. But it's not suffocating. It's a comfort. One Dean has been more and more thankful for over the years. He's just failed to show―to _tell_ Cas, how much. 

He knows he should probably keep his distance, like always, but.. is there really any point to that, anymore?..

“I told Sam, that he was the only one who could talk me out of it―which is exactly why I didn’t tell him," and he can already hear his voice wobble again, but he pushes through. "And ‘cos I don’t do good with _Goodbyes_ , Cas, I―” _damn tears, stupid choked-up voice_ , “―I couldn’t say _Goodbye_ to you, okay―? Not again―I could **not** go through _that,_ **again**.” 

Dean can’t look at him anymore―has to blink away the hot tears blurring his vision. He only peeks back up as Cas sucks in a breath, lets it out quick. Dean's own lungs inflate his chest with a stuttered breath; Cas is right there. He’s well inside Dean’s space bubble, closer than ever _~~and yet still so far away~~_ , eyes soft with concern, a sad smile twitching his lips.

“..I don’t think I could say _Goodbye_ to you, either. Not forever.”

It’s almost enough.

To hear Cas say _that_ ―it’s almost enough to fight back the rush of painful memories, to escape the knowing that it will happen _again_ , soon enough. Not in the same way, but it will feel just as permanent.

Cas’ hand finds Dean’s shoulder, fits so perfectly there. Always has. The weight of his touch and the grounding of his words, his voice, help Dean to focus on something beyond Michael’s barricaded presence in his head.

And.. honestly?

If the time they have left together is shorter than it ought to be, if _Goodbye_ is painful but inevitable, then whatever ache might settle in his soul once he’s under the weight of an entire ocean, far away from everyone he loves with nothing but his own mind for escape against the lonesome years, then maybe, _maybe_.. seeking a little comfort beforehand isn’t quite the risk Dean thought.

Because the secret is out. Cas knows what things may come to - and Cas doesn’t want to say _Goodbye_ any more than Dean does. But he will. If there is no other way, and if that’s what Dean needs, he will.

So, what’s the harm in leaning on his best friend a little, for just a little while? What’s the harm in letting Cas know this isn’t easy _at all_ on Dean, that he could really use some help, someone to help keep him from crumbling when he needs to stand stronger than he ever has?

It's a rough feat, alone - may be damn near impossible.

If he has to take that final step off the bridge alone, then he damn sure doesn’t want to make the walk up there alone.

And Cas gets it―he _gets_ _Dean_ ―because now Dean is leaning forward without expressly meaning to but not wanting to pull back, and Cas is opening his arms to embrace him.

Dean has to sift through muddled memories to find the last time he shared a hug with Cas.. The realisation that it’s been a while doesn’t sit well with him.

He holds on tight. Holds Cas with everything he's got left.

 

Seconds drift into minutes.

 

Dean hugs Cas as long as he needs to, and in return allows himself to be held. Because maybe, just _maybe_ , Cas needs this as much as he does. For once, without all the angst and desperation of a last-chance confession ~~_almost_~~ , they can just let themselves be close to each other.

It’s comfort for comfort’s sake _~~a doomed man's grasp~~_ , with no enemy bearing down on them ~~_the enemy is in him_~~ to hurry things along _~~his time is running out~~_.

The world isn’t ending ~~_not yet_~~. Not tonight. They’re alive ~~_for now_~~  and safe ~~_not really_~~ and together ~~_more distance between them than ever_~~.

It won't be forever, it never is. But right here, right now, this is enough.

~~_It's the most he'll ever have._ ~~

Cas holds on tighter.

Michael breathes inside his mind.

Dean focuses on Cas’ breath instead: in his ear, not his head. He focuses on the heartbeat beating back into his own chest, filling every off-beat of his own with a steady, _thump.. thump_..

He ignores the arrhythmic pounding of fists on his mental door, screwdriver shaking in its place.

It's okay. He'll replace the screwdriver with a magical lock fashioned by Death herself. It'll be okay.

Dean buries his nose in Cas’ collar, breathes deep, steady― _heady_ ―exhales, slow as he can.. He feels a contrasting mix of weakness and revitalisation flood through him. His knees ache to bend, to let his body fold under the weight of _Everything_. His heart, though, beats a little harder, tries to pump more blood around his body, keep him standing.

Cas holds him steady, lets him lean as his legs feel weak. His heart doesn't have to struggle alone.

He can do this. With help, he can do what needs to be done.

And if Dean pretends that his face buried in Cas’ neck in search of comfort and strength is the only reason his lips press against his collar?..

..well.

This is closer than he's ever been.

It's close enough.

It's just enough.

Cas keeps holding on.

Dean lets him.

   

**Author's Note:**

> ♡ also [on tumblr](https://theheartchoice.tumblr.com/post/187070920283/1412-coda-where-theres-a-will) ♡
> 
> * * *
> 
> Unfortunately, the official Tumblr + Ao3 Collection associated with the **Spn One Word Bingo** have been deleted. But there still remains those of us who choose to continue creating for our cards! You can find our fills on Tumblr via the **#**[SPNOneWordBingo](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/spnonewordbingo) tag, and right here on Ao3 under the [spnonewordbingo](https://archiveofourown.org/tags/spnonewordbingo/works) tag as well.


End file.
